


Thicker Than Water

by gegg



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption II
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Story Line that will eventually fall into the events of the game, Angst, Coming of Age, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, i would die for isaac, listen, there will be eventual graphic depictions of violence but i'll tag it when the time comes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gegg/pseuds/gegg
Summary: It all started with a gravedigger, a priest, and a boy of just eleven surrounding the uncompleted grave of one Eliza Phillips.When Isaac's ma dies of an unexpected illness, he is believed to be an orphan, with the absence of a father he has been used to for quite some time. Little does he know, he's no such Phillips as his ma, but the son of one of the most threatening outlaws known to the pending civilization.With no-one, and nowhere else to go, Isaac embarks on a journey to find the father that abandoned them all those years ago. To find Arthur Morgan.///////AU where Eliza and Isaac don't die in a robbery early on and Arthur distances himself even earlier. A different story for the son of Arthur Morgan.(Title Changed From 'Family Ties')





	1. The Boy With Two Names

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll! Instead of writing any of my english final essay, I worked on and finished this. I've had this idea stuck in my head in a long time, and just had to start writing a fic about it. I've always wondered about Isaac and Eliza, and was disappointed of their mentioned fate in the game. Hopefully this makes for a good alternative. Making Isaac's character was so much fun, and I already love him to death, so to the future me writing future chapters: please be kind to this poor kid, lmao. 
> 
> I really hope you guys like this, and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know what you think! Let me know everything! Reading yall's feedback is one of my favorite things to do, and they usually give me all kinds of ideas for future chapters, so let loose!
> 
> (And for those of you waiting on the third chapter of my Tilly/Arthur story, that'll be coming next, sometime in the near-future!)

His name was Isaac Phillips.

 

That’s what ma always told him. 

 

He remembered that as he watched the first clump of dirt hit against her coffin, breaking and scattering across the cheap wood. Covering her up. It should have been raining, the sky displaying clumps of grey and brown that only threatened to. Not that Isaac noticed exactly, too focused on the task of the grave digger, who seemed to be in a hurry. The dull shovel would hit and scoop up a pile of more dirt, and throw it carelessly down. Again, and again, and again, until the sound and image was sure to be etched into his mind forever. 

 

A steady hand on his back reminded him that he wasn’t alone, not yet. And, yet, all he wanted  in that moment was to be alone. 

 

“I remember my ma dyin’ when I was… hm, around your age, I think. I’m sorry, son. I know it’s tough.” The priest, who’s hand rested on Isaac’s back, broke the dirt-filled silence, and Isaac realized that he must of missed most of he had to say about his mother. He must of been thinking too much about how this even happened, and why he felt so numb inside. Regardless, he didn’t find himself responding to the comment, allowing the older man to ramble on.

 

“Typhoid, I believe it was. She didn’t have a chance, the poor woman. It took her from us before we could do anythin’ about it.” The voice was carefree and pity-filled, and all Isaac could do was keep staring, mouth clenched shut as it had been for the longest time. “But, she lived a good life, as did your own ma. You’re living proof of that, son, you’re her own pride and joy you see.”

 

It became a simple dirt-filled silence again for a moment. Isaac mentally declared he didn’t care what the priest had to say, whose breath was filled with some sort of sour whiskey.  _ He just wanted to be alone.  _ Alone... and with his mother all at the same time. Not alone with a gravedigger and a priest, but what choice did he have? 

 

_ Shnnk _

 

_ Shnnk _

 

_ Shnnk _

 

“... And,  you had a damn good mother too. Be thankful for your time together. Count your blessings, son-”

 

_ “I ain’t your son, Sir.” _

 

It slipped out before Isaac could stop himself from cutting off the Priest with the icy, muttered voice. Miserable voice, more so. He realized how croaky and rough he sounded from a throat that had been tight with emotion for the longest time. His face suddenly felt more wet too, the half-buried grave looking bleary through tears just eager to overflow. To keep himself from breaking down in that moment, he swiped at his face hastily and sniffed harshly. Just a little longer… then this would all be over. Behind him, the Reverend became quiet, and he could hear the ruffling of fabric and the unscrewing of something metal-like.

 

“Hm.” The Priest sounded, before bringing a flask up to his lips and taking a long swig of the same sour whiskey. He didn’t seem angry, so Isaac was relieved of that at least. The last thing he needed was to piss off the town reverend. “No I ain’t… Where is your daddy anyhow? You got one, boy?”

 

_ ‘I ain’t your boy neither.’ _ Isaac thought this time, struggling to swallow down the comment as his teeth clenched tightly once more. The mention of his father didn’t exactly help him keep his temper and emotion at bay.

 

A few seconds passed, before could mutter out a quiet comment. “No.”

 

“Hmph,” The cap of the flask was screwed back on, being shoved back into it’s disturbed crypt within’ the reverend’s black coat, “Don’t be foolish, everyone has a daddy. Or  _ had _ … I suppose. You see, my own dadd-”

 

“ _ I’m done.” _

 

Isaac’s attention snapped back from that of the Priest, and to the task at hand. Or, rather,  _ completed _ task at hand, as suddenly the once half-filled grave was patted down at ground level. Level with the ground he stood on, and somehow that added detail placed even more dread in his stomach. It looked as if the dirt had swallowed up his mother, with only a simple patch as evidence. His mouth gaped open ever so slightly, as he forced himself to tear his eyes away and look at the gravedigger. He was a tall, scrawny man, with sunken eyes, and a flat cap that offered a fair amount of grim shadows covering the top half of his features. Isaac wasn’t even sure how old he could have been, but he guessed he didn’t care right then, only thinking about how quick he dug that grave and buried his ma. Sure, it wasn’t the deepest, most secure… but he just thought… well, he didn’t know what he thought. 

 

“T-that’s it?” Isaac asked trying to hide the slight alarm in his voice. The misery. The little boy he’d been not too many years ago.

 

_ “... Are you gonna pay me or not?”  _ His voice was exactly what Isaac expected it to be. Sour, deep… gravelly. A smoker’s voice if anything, but with it’s own special touch of a deep misery much like he felt in that moment. For some obvious reason, the question set something else off in Isaac that he hadn’t felt before. Not until that point. Something red and angry. A few tears, with the same feeling of fury, slipped down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping them away, at that point, taking a step towards the gravedigger and standing as tall as he could to the man.

 

“ _ Pay you? _ For  _ what _ ? Burying my ma in a shallow grave with some loose dirt on top?”

 

It was an exaggeration, but Isaac felt he was in his right to do so. He’d always had a temper of some sort, but he always had a hold over it. His ma would keep him in check too, telling him to mind his manners whenever he let some sort of comment or rude remark slip out. He never really meant it anyway, knowing it was never worth the occasional ear tug or lecture she would give him in order  _ to _ remind him. But, she was gone, and maybe the fact that she was made whatever burning feeling he felt burn even deeper within’. Though, he couldn’t shake the phantom of her voice of what he imagined she would be saying in this moment. Something in a scolding tone, most likely.

 

The gravedigger’s stern and glum expression never changed, clearly unphased by the boy before him. Instead, he took a step towards Isaac himself, solidifying the clear advantage he had over him. Even closer, he towered over the younger boy, and Isaac had to admit that if he wasn’t so angry he’d back off in a heartbeat.

 

“You best watch your tone with me,  _ boy.” _

 

Isaac blew out a puff of hot air through his nose, wet, red eyes narrowing further, “Call me  _ boy _ again! See if I pay you then!”

 

“ _ Hey _ , hey!” The priest piped up, pushing himself between the two and holding his hands up towards the now silently fuming gravedigger as if to calm things down. “Let’s all be rational now… okay? What you need, sir. Five?”

 

Keeping his eyes on the taller of the three, he quickly reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill, holding it up. The gravedigger’s hollow eyes scanned from Isaac, whose breaths were heavy and irate as he didn’t break eye contact, to the priest with more anxious eyes and the piss poor pay he was offering up. He snatched it up quickly, picked up his shovel and turned around in a slow motion. From there he walked away and through the rest of the graveyard as if he himself were a corpse. 

 

Now it was truly silent. No dirt digging, no talking, just silence. The priest let his hands find their way back to his sides as him and Isaac watched the figure disappear for good. Just a cautionary, the priest supposed, while Isaac was hoping he’d come back so he could continue to yell at him. Yell at someone, at least. He felt like he could yell forever and ever now, because it was better than sitting quietly and feeling how he felt. It was like a giant hole was just eating him from the inside, bit by bit, until he’d completely disappear into nothingness. He’d be a puddle of sadness, with the World walking all over him now that his ma was gone. Some poor, orphan boy.

 

“And, here I was thinkin’ you was one of those quiet boys...“ The priest finally spoke, “You ain’t too good at picking your fights so-... kid.” He raised his eyebrows, still peering through the barren graveyard and in the distance. Despite the various changes in mood throughout, the sky remained a gloomy grey, thick clouds sauntering slowly above them, with the faintest of breezes blowing through and completing the scene. 

 

“... Why are you still here?” Isaac asked, calmed down slightly, but with a harsh tone of curiosity. 

 

The Priest contemplated this for a moment, refraining from reaching back into his coat for the familiar steel of the flask, “Well, that’s my job… I suppose. To be there for folk who need it.” A simple, easy answer. One that Isaac used to his advantage.

 

“Well I… I don’t need ya’.” Isaac hesitated, “So just _ go _ .”

 

“... If you say so, son…” The Priest himself hesitated, like he didn’t want to leave the boy all alone, but he had a feeling it was an argument he wouldn’t win. “But, you know where to find me if you change your mind.” 

 

He stayed put for a few more moments before turning on his heel such as the gravedigger did not too long ago, and ambling off in the direction of the nearby church. 

 

Truth be told… maybe he  _ did _ need him. But, he didn’t want him to stick around any longer than he had to. If there was anyone he  _ wanted _ , it was his ma, alive and in good health, and not going anywhere anytime soon. He already struggled to remember what it was like when she was around, and he realized that maybe he took her for granted sometimes. He wasn’t the best son he could’ve been when she needed him to be. Now, he couldn’t even smell the perfume she always had on. He couldn’t picture her voice in his ears. The comfort he would feel from her hands squeezing his shoulders in some protective manner. When he was younger, he would cry, and she’d always be there to wipe away his tears and ruffle his hair. Hell, he even missed when she would scold him for picking a fight with one of the other few kids in town.

 

He loved her though, and she him. They were all they had. It was them against the World at many times. 

 

Now Isaac knew it was just him against the World.

 

So, he stood at her grave alone. It may have just been delaying the inevitable of him having to figure out what came next, but he didn’t care. At least now he could let the rest of his tears silently spill out without caring. He knew how that Priest was looking at him before. Like he was some weak, little boy. Well, he didn’t want his pity, or anyones… but now he had the gift of not caring what anyone else thought. At least for a little bit. 

 

Isaac sniffed again, wiping more weakly at his face, and staring at the headstone that listed his mother’s name with a satirical tone. He tried to imagine that maybe she was still there, listening to him.

 

_ “What am I supposed to do, ma?” _

 

The only answer he got was a sweep of wind.

 

* * *

 

 The little house Isaac and his ma once lived in together was the most quiet it’d ever been. The darkest too. Granted, he didn’t bother lighting any of the lanterns, or the fireplace that provided that warm glow he felt the most at home with. He didn’t even open any windows to let in natural light.

 

He sat on his bed instead, almost wallowing in the dimness as he stared at a letter from the bank. And, it was no surprise what it was about. With no provider, they-...  _ he _ wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage and keep the abode he’d known for so long. His ma only made so much, but she was always able to stay on top of the house payments. Just barely, but just enough. So, unless Isaac could find a job that would pay him enough in the first week to make another payment for the house, while still having the money to pay for food to actually survive… well, it wasn’t looking good. It’s not like anyone in this damn town would hire him anyway.

 

Ma left him money of course, but it just wasn’t enough. Unless she had more hidden away… he had to start gathering their things and moving on. 

 

Maybe he could find a ranch to work on. At least then he’d have a place to live while making some money on the side. The only problem was… he didn’t look like the oldest eleven year old there was. He wouldn’t be able to lie about his age to get the job. Hell, they’d probably call the law on him, and send him to one of those fancy orphanages in the city. All for just being a damn kid on his own.

 

A poor, little orphan. That’s probably all that Priest saw. That’s why his voice was laced with pity throughout. At least that God damn gravedigger had the decency to treat him like a normal human being, and not some  _ sob story. _

 

Isaac realized his face had gotten wet again while deep in thought, and wiped his face hastily with his sleeve with a sniff. He couldn’t even think straight at this point, crumpling up the bank’s letter and throwing it harshly at the wall, all with a frustrated yell. It hit with no force, falling to the floor lightly. He stared, rubbing his eyes loosely, as he remembered what was on the other side of that wall. It was a soft realization… knowing it was a room that was as empty as he felt, and always would be from now on, no matter what. It was a room that he didn’t  _ want _ to go in, but knew he had to.

 

Slowly, Isaac stood up from the dismal comfort of his bed, and wandered through his room, around the corner, and into his ma’s room. Before he could actually enter, he stood in the doorway. It was like he felt too weak to bear it, because it was here where he felt the most reminder of her. That perfume he couldn’t smell at her grave he certainly smelt there, lingering in the air. He expected it to feel warmer, maybe, but it was colder than the rest of the house had been, and a feeling of dread he’d grown used to returned in full force. 

 

_ “Isaac, stop that! You put my hairbrush down this instant!” _   The voice echoed in his head, and the smallest hint of a smile made it’s way onto his face. He was always a small hellraiser when he was a lot younger, constantly tearing through the house and getting into his ma’s stuff. She’d try to scold him, but there would always be that faint amusement on her voice as she did so. 

 

Without trying to let his emotions get the best of him, he finally stepped inside the room. Her presence was even stronger, and he knew it was because it was just a few days ago when she was still in here. And, then she suddenly wasn’t. All he could do now was wallow in it, and refrain from mentally wondering where she could be if she felt so close. So visible. After a few more moments of taking the the different details of the room in, the floral comforter she’d used as long as he could remember, the various wall art, the photos of her own ma and pa, he made his way slowly to the chest sitting just at the foot of the bed, a very thin layer of dust settled upon it. He kneeled down, hesitating just like he did when entering this room, and opening it with as much care as he could.

 

Inside, he was immediately greeted with dim, royal colors of her various dresses. They were nothing fancy, just good, solid greens, blues, and reds that seemed to stir his emotions even more. He could picture her in each one, but only in still images. His mind acted like a slideshow, like one of those picture shows she took him to see one time. Nothing live though. No movement. Just stillness. Before he fell into another slump of grief, he forced himself to push the bundles of fabric aside and keep looking.

 

Looking for what? He didn’t know. More money for the house? More to remember her by? Hope? Anything, he supposed.

 

Underneath the piles of clothes were only a few things. A small wooden box, with a few carved details, a hat he’d never seen her wear before, and a thick envelope with pieces of faded paper sticking out. The first thing that grabbed at him was the hat. It looked like any normal cowpuncher hat, with a thin band of of felt around it, and a drawstring hanging loosely. He furrowed his eyebrows, carefully reaching in and extracting it. It looked as if it were new… never worn maybe, but still had its own fair share of wear and tear. He wondered why she would stash it, of all things, away. What he didn’t notice immediately, was what the hat was covering up.

 

Once the hat was set aside on the floor next to him, and he went back to grab the small, wooden box, the glint of familiar  metal he was greeted with instead almost caused him to jump up in conclusion. Maybe not so… familiar, because he never knew his ma ever had a  _ gun _ in her possession. A pistol to be exact, though he didn’t know the exact kind. It looked as new as the hat, with that same hint of age. Never used, but sitting and wasting away in this chest, apparently. His eyes were wider and more confused, with eyebrows furrowing further than they already could. A mysterious hat was one thing, but he had never thought he’d find a gun, of all things, stashed away. His ma hardly even mentioned the weapon, making no notice of it, even if they were always on someones belt, proudly on display. No… the only thing she ever said about guns was for Isaac to stay away from them. She never went into more detail than that, but Isaac heeded her warning… but, it looked like things were different now.

 

With even more obvious caution than with the hat, Isaac reached down, trying to ignore the shiver rushing down his spine, and picked up the weapon. It wasn’t the fact that it was dangerous and most times lethal, but more so that his mother had it hidden away… his mother, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly, as exaggerated as that was. Holding it in his hands was not a feeling he liked feeling especially, and he was quick to set it down beside the hat, as well as snatch up what he could only assume was the tiny, cardboard box of it’s ammunition right by it. A part of him felt guilty for looking through all her things that she had kept away from him for some reason. Maybe good ones, but he still felt a rush of anxiety as he eyed the wooden box. What could possibly be in there? Another, smaller gun?

 

No, instead, the third item in the chest was something that made more sense. Or, at least more sense than a gun. Isaac felt nervous to open the small, latched top, but once he saw it was only jewelry, he breathed out in relief. Then again, he didn’t recall seeing his ma ever wear any of these. A pair of pearl earrings, a worn, diamond ring, and a locket on a chain, er… necklace. Ignoring the former, he picked out the locket, examining the detail on the outside of the circular metal. There was something engraved: initials, but one of the letters was too faded out to make it out properly. Instead, there was an only slightly faded out  _ A. _

 

_ “A?”  _ Isaac repeated his mental confusion out loud. Unable to take the unspoken suspense any longer, he pried the locket open, ultimately revealing… nothing. Maybe the edges of what could’ve been a small, cut out photo to fit the locket’s layout, but besides that there was nothing to see. He figured that all of the jewelry must’ve belonged to her parents or something anyway, which would explain the safety of keeping it stowed. That’s what he decided to go with, even if it wasn’t completely true. Probably close enough to it regardless.

 

He set the box aside, letting it take its unusual place with the gun and hat. All that remained besides the crumpled up dresses was the wide envelope.

 

This time Isaac didn’t think as much about picking it out and holding it in his hand. Maybe he was starting to get good at this invasion of privacy thing, but after the gun, he was much more happy with look through jewelry and letters. Only, when he opened the unaddressed envelope, he didn’t find just a collection of letters, but rather a collection of dollars and one letter. Of course, he grabbed the stack of cash out first,  a slow forming, but wide smile hitting his face like no other had in a long time. He even let the envelope and it’s single content drop to the ground as he started the hasty count of the neat bills. They were all organized in fives, and totaled twenty-five individual fives, so… he took a second to do the math in his head, which he wasn’t very good at. Instead, when he couldn’t do the simple addition by himself, he counted out physically, flipping from bill to bill. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he was holding fifty dollars in his hand right at that moment, which was the most money he’d ever held… ever. But, considering the growing debt he owed the bank for the house… it just wasn’t enough. Even with the twenty left to him that was found on his ma at the time of her… well,  _ that _ , _ it just wasn’t enough. _

 

The smile dropped from his face as quickly as it had formed, and all Isaac felt he could do was curse out loud in frustration. “Damn it… God _damn it._ ” So damn close… what else could possibly happen to him at this point? He’d be robbed? It didn’t seem unlikely. He mulled over how he could close that remaining gap of money left, coming up with nothing that wasn’t selling his and ma’s mount. Sally, an older buckskin mare who could probably help out with that… but he would never. He _could_ never sell that damn horse. In a lot of ways, she was all he had left. Or one of the living reminders of his ma that he had left. She was pretty much apart of the family at this stage, so selling her was simply out of the question. Besides, it’d be tough to negotiate her up to the price he needed… at least, that’s what he inwardly told himself to further solidify his position. Glancing to his left, and the collection of items on the floor… the jewelry was also out of the question, and he doubted that hat and rusty looking gun could make that much too. There was just no point.

 

Isaac stared at the wad useful yet useless cash, breathing out a puff of hot air through his nostrils. He hated feeling just as useless.  _ Clueless. Emotional. _ He was sick of all of it. All of these things he felt only succeeded in making him feel smaller compared to what awaited outside of this house he soon wouldn’t have. He’d end up in one of those poor houses in the bigger cities he was sure… or at the very least begging out on the streets of the only town he’d ever known, watching pairs people walk by and ignore him just as he had done to many of the other homeless folk out there. The visual was terrifying, but he could picture it in his head so clearly, he knew that was all that awaited him. Not some ranch that would believe he was sixteen and hire him on the spot. Cold, dirty streets for nights and nights until… until something else. 

 

He let a tear roll down his cheek, not bothering to wipe it away like he had all the others. What was the point? There would always be more tears. 

 

It was only when the tear slowly dripped off Isaac’s chin and onto the envelope enclosing that single letter he had previously abandoned, that he stopped stewing in those awful thoughts. He made a face that showcased confusion and subtle intrigue as he let the money fall to the floor in its place, and finally picked up the smooth, vanilla paper. He realized he really hadn’t looked at it before, because upon flipping it over before plucking the letter out, he found his name written largely in his ma’s handwriting. It was another piece of her that remained, and more nostalgia sparked in him because it was something he recognized more than anything else hidden in that chest. He skimmed over the dried ink with a finger, mouthing out each word carefully. So… what did that itself mean…? If it was for him, why had he never seen it before? Finally, after lingering a bit too long on that one detail, he reached in and pulled the single piece of paper out. It made a ruffled sound, and this time he didn’t hesitate too much to unfold and start reading, eyes a bit more open and aware.

 

“ _ My… dearest Isaac,”  _ He read began by reading out loud.

 

_ If you are reading this, I have passed on. I am hoping this doesn’t happen for a long time, but there is a lot I still need to tell you if I haven’t been able to tell you before I’ve left this world.  _ _I am writing this right now as you are two years old. You are currently sleeping in my bed right now, and you look just like an angel. To start off, Isaac, if I did not tell you before, I am telling you now._ _I love you with all my heart, and you are the most wonderful thing to happen to me all my time alive. I am completely convinced that I was put on this World in the first place to love you and give you the best life I possibly can. But, I_ _guess_ _suppose I have been feeling anxious as of late that I will not always be here to do that for you. As beautiful as this World that God created himself is, it is also dangerous, unpredictable, and full of twists and turns that we can never see coming. My own mother died when I was around your age right now, and I always wished that she had left me more to remember her by, much like the letter I write to you at this very moment. But, that’s not the only reason I write this. Oh, Isaac. There is so much I haven’t told you, and probably will not tell you as long as I live. I just can’t bear to. Perhaps I am ashamed of the fool I was before you were born, and the fool I still am even with you in my life. So, I will tell you now. A year before I became pregnant with you, I met a man by the name of Arthur Morgan, and I fell in love with him. I think he fell in love with me too. I won’t go into too much detail, but that shared love is what created you, Isaac. Arthur Morgan is your father. I know you won’t remember him, but he was around to meet you, and fall in love with you just as I had as soon as I laid eyes on you. I still remember when he held you for the first time. He was always a strong, proud, stubborn man, but I think as soon as you were in his arms, that stubborn heart of his melted a little bit. You have my brown eyes, but his dark blonde hair. For a few months, everything was just so perfect, Isaac. For a few months, he truly was your father, and even helped me take care of you. I just laughed, because I remember him even insisting he watch you for a few hours while I needed to rest. But, as quickly as you came into our lives, he left both yours and mine. I still to this day do not know why he had to leave, but he did, and broke my heart in the process. I can forgive him for that, which is why I am a fool, but I can’t forgive him for leaving you as well, which is why I am not. Your father did take the time to send us some money a few weeks after he left, which I am leaving a bit of in this envelope for you just in case. As much as I loved you father, I never knew much about him, and what kind of life he had. Maybe I have been quick to judge his actions without knowing about his own life, but I suppose I always thought we were his life. I know, I know. I did say I was a fool after all. With this letter, you’ll hopefully find a hat as well. It was a hat I wanted to surprise him with, but never got the chance to after he left. It's yours now, because I know I will never have the guts to give it to you myself, just as I don’t have the guts to tell you about Arthur Morgan. Don’t worry, Isaac, I am not just telling you this to burden you, but if I have died, I want you to find him. Your father. I don’t know if he may still be alive, but if there is a chance at giving you a full life, that is a chance but you and I have to take. While I did not know much about Arthur Morgan, he did always talk about these silly dreams of going to Black Water, and taking you and I with him. Black Water is a ways away from here, but if you head North, you are sure to find it, and hopefully find  your father as well. Oh, Isaac, even if he doesn't love me anymore, I just know in my heart he still loves you, and will take care of you if I am unable to. But, even if I truly am gone Isaac, just know how much I love you, and will be watching over you from the gates of Heaven. Remember your name. You are Isaac Phillips, but you are also Isaac Morgan, and you are destined for amazing things, son. You will change the World for the better, I am sure of it. Take this money and take the hat, and go forth. Before I say goodbye, I want to tell you I am sorry that I am gone, but you will be okay. You will grow up to be a good man, just as your father truly was despite all his faults, if you haven’t already by the time you’re reading this._

 

_ Love, your mother, _

_ Eliza Phillips _

  
  


Isaac had struggled to continue reading it out loud, and even quit halfway through because all he could hear was his ma’s own voice reading her words that graced that paper. The words that revealed his ma’s biggest secret. The words the he almost couldn’t believe as he read them. He _ didn’t _ believe them. How could he? This… he couldn’t wrap his head around what she was saying to him, as if she was in the room herself. But, she wasn’t. It was just him and the sudden flurry of different emotions that he had already been feeling, but more amplified. More confusion, more sadness, more longing…. More anger. Anger not because of the new information she revealed, but anger because he didn’t understand it. 

By the time he made himself put the letter down, he had read more than five times through, and it was sprinkled with wet spots that were tears of his own. More tears he hadn’t wiped away because he didn’t think to. He could only think about how he had a father, and how this letter made it all the more real and clear to him that she was  _ gone. _ The fact that he even read that letter made him understand that he wouldn’t be reading it if she were still alive. 

By this point he found himself slumped against the chest, letter lying in his lap although his hands still weakly held it, and looking up, straight at the wall. Looking at nothing, but thinking everything. 

 

“Arthur Morgan…” The name came roughly out of Isaac’s lips, like he couldn’t even say it. He never knew he could have so much hatred for a man he read just a few lines about. For a man he had never even met. Not that he could remember, anyway. Alternatively, he never knew he could harbor any angry towards his ma, especially just a day after her death. But, he did, and he hated himself for hating her. He  _ hated _ her for never leading him to believe he never had a father of any sort. A pa, more so, but he was beginning to think this man didn’t deserve neither. And, even if wanted to hate his ma, he couldn’t. He had loved her so much, and he still did, but  _ how could she? _ How could she wait until he died to let him discover this? Despite everything written out on paper, especially her reasoning, he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was cruel in a way… but he knew she never meant for it to be. 

 

After a handful of minutes of wallowing in this new information, and trying to understand his own feelings for it, he had his own realization. Now… now there was still something more for him  _ out there. _ Nothing good, but there was… something for him to discover. He had a father, and his ma wanted him to go out and look for him. To find something that he always knew was missing, but never questioned. It was always him and ma, and that was already true, but now it wasn’t. He wasn’t even sure if he ever wanted to meet the bastard who he know understood left him and his ma behind, but it opened a different option than wasting away on the streets of this empty town. A different option than surrendering himself to some poor house or orphanage where he would always be an orphan, and die an orphan. There was something more for him than a dismal fate, even if it ended up being a dead end. He could be something more than the image and future he had in his mind up until then. 

 

‘ _ You are Isaac Phillips, but you are also Isaac Morgan, and you are destined for amazing things, son.’ _

 

Before too long, Isaac had stood up from his once defeated position, and walked over to a picture of his ma hanging on that very wall he only just stared at with dead eyes. It was a picture he would always remember. She was sitting on a chair, obviously posed, but still managing to look natural and in her element. The aura was the same as he had always felt. Kindness, love… strength. Now he knew why she was always strong, because she made herself to be for him. She was smiling too. It was a small, subtle smile, but it was apart of her. This was how he would always remember her. After awhile of looking at it, he noticed his own reflection in the glass frame. He was mirroring his ma’s expression, but when he saw himself within’ it, it dropped to a stoic expression of some newfound confidence. 

‘ _ You will change the World for the better, I am sure of it.’ _

 

“Isaac  _ Morgan. _ ” He said out loud, this time testing his own, newfound name. It felt right… and that somehow was a sign enough of what he had to do next. “My name is  _ Isaac Morgan _ .” 

 

He had never been more sure of anything in his life.

 

* * *

 

The satchel wasn’t as packed as it could’ve been, but Isaac knew he couldn’t take everything with him. He couldn’t take his whole bed, for one thing, just like couldn’t take his ma’s dresses. He could’ve, but he knew he shouldn’t. What use would he have for them on the road? And, they wouldn’t sell for anything anyway. No, some things were clearly just meant to stay in this house he’d known for so long. He didn’t exactly put any thought into what the bank might do with what he left behind, nor did he care to. 

 

For the past hour, Isaac had been packing for the journey ahead. There were the obvious things to take, like a couple extra changes of clothes, food for the road, and a pair of gloves for it when the seasons changed to colder weather. He packed those items in a saddlebag that belonged to his ma, and had her initials as proof of that. As well in the saddlebag was a blanket, and the smaller box of bullets he found with the gun. Probably not so smart to make them less accessible, but he was hoping, or assuming, he wouldn’t have to use the gun in the first place. The World had always been violent, but surely it wasn’t as violent anymore? All those stories of gunslingers he’d heard before weren’t very realistic anyway, and he’d never seen it for himself, so he decided to discount that probability for the most part. Maybe it was for the best to go into this with a positive mindset… right? Right.

 

As easy as it was to know what essentials he needed, even though he was  _ unsure _ about the bullets, the challenge lied with what personal items to take. He, alone, didn’t have much. A pocket knife that his ma gave to him on his tenth birthday and a sturdy, brown norfolk jacket he wore everywhere he went was all he could think of. It was his ma who had all the possessions. The dresses were out of the question… so he started with everything else he found in that old chest. The small, wooden jewelry box with the ring, pearl earrings, and locket. He looked at that locket again, wondering if maybe the  _ A _ stood for Arthur, and the faded out letter was possibly an  _ M. _ It… made sense, but he’d had to ask this Arthur himself if-  _ when _ he found him. The money he knew would be more handy spent towards his survival on the road rather on a house. The… gun. He thought about storing that in the saddlebag with its box-o-bullets “counterpart”, but he had a feeling that…  _ maybe _ he’d find himself in a situation where it would come in handy. If it ever came down to the point where he needed more money, he could always sell it. Or try to. It did look pretty old, afterall. Whatever his reasoning was, he carefully stored it in his satchel.

 

It occurred to him ever so slightly that his ma’s letter never explained the gun as it did the gun. Maybe she put it there  _ after _ she wrote the letter, which made sense, though he did wish there was  _ some _ sort of explanation for it. Other than the obvious role in defense it played. So with it, he took the letter from his ma, stored neatly in its original envelope, and packed it up as well. 

 

Isaac felt content with what he packed thus far, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just  _ missing _ . There was something he couldn’t put his finger on. That feeling didn’t remain a mystery for long, however, because as soon as he quickly scanned her room, his eyes lay on the picture on the wall. The one that defined her the most, and the one he saw himself in. He would’ve had to turn around if he’d realized he forgot something as simple as a picture of his ma. While the memory of her was still fresh in his head, he had a lingering fear that maybe that memory would fade with time, so it was important to have this with him. He carefully took it out of the dusty frame, folded it up, and stuck it right in the envelope. Both that letter and her picture were more important than  _ anything _ else he had packed, and he was sure of that.

 

He didn’t forget about the hat.

 

The hat she  _ did _ explain, and suddenly meant much more to him than it had before. It was a piece of his father, even if it was never worn by him. But, it was meant to, and that was enough. Isaac picked it up from the top of the chest, and ran his fingers over the material, the felt displaying a deep brown color that had faded slightly with age. Not wanting to stall any longer, he stuck it on his head, ignoring the spaciness of it. With that, he gave his ma’s room one long, last look, taking a mental note of each detail, and made his escape before he found himself lingering any longer.

 

His departure was always inevitable from the very moment he opened that letter, but Isaac knew he had to do it sooner than later, or else he would delay it as long as possible, drowning in the comfort of his home and never being able to move on from what held him back. Satchel secured at his hip, and saddlebag thrown over his shoulder, he stood in the doorway of his home. It was exactly the same as he entered it, dark and lifeless, but still full of familiar furniture and memories he would take with him. He didn’t exactly put any thought into what the bank might do with what he left behind, nor did he care to. All that mattered is that he would remember it and leave it as he always remembered it. His home. Ma’s home.  _ Their _ home. 

 

Taking a deep breath, and turning slowly on his heel, he shut the door behind him. 

 

Outside, Sally was already saddled up, with an old sleeping bag he found strapped tightly to the back of her saddle. The saddle also belonged to his ma, as well as the rest of Sally’s tack, seeing as though he wasn’t old enough to have his own horse and therefore his own saddle. Now he was, it seemed. As soon as Sally spotted him, her ears knitted forward and she snorted an eager greeting. When he was saddling her up not too long ago, he got the sense she was excited to be going somewhere. The reaction prompted a smile from Isaac himself, and he finally started approaching her with his gathered cargo.

 

“Hey, girl.” He greeted back giving her a hearty pat on the neck before slinging the slightly heavy saddlebag over it. She seemed unphased, snorting again. Isaac wondered if she knew she’d be leaving home too and going on a journey neither of them were truly prepared for. He searched her eyes for some sort of sense of what was going through her head, but ultimately couldn’t tell anything. At least they had each other to rely on, and that was enough.

 

Even though she was much taller, Isaac  _ was _ thankful he knew how to ride, and therefore knew how to heave himself onto the saddle like he had many times before. With another, softer pat on her neck, he grabbed the reins, and turned around to leave the fence confining their home. He hesitated for a moment, but finally kicked slightly at Sally, prompting her forward, and in the opposite direction. They made it onto the road they were meant to follow, and as much as Isaac just wanted to keep going from there, he couldn’t help but turn around to look at the town he grew up in as well as his home. It was only a little ways down the road, the cluster of buildings fairly visible. The graveyard was also visible, the very sight of sending a pang of anxiety and guilt through Isaac’s gut. 

 

He was leaving her behind too… so was this really the right thing to do? To abandon everything he’d ever known in search of a father neither him or his ma knew that well? A father that could be dead, and only further confirm Isaac’s orphan status?

 

Did she really want this for him?

 

After a couple more minutes, Isaac turned back around without any reassurance that what he was doing was the right thing. He was already in too deep, and even if he was still in walking distance of everything that was familiar, he didn’t turn back. He kicked at Sally, falling into a steady, and painful pace into the open. 

 

Isaac, as unsure as he was, felt more and more of a release of that doubt the further away he grew from the security of familiarity.  He didn’t have a solid idea of what awaited him, but he was as ready as he could be. Hat upon his head, jacket loosely grasping his small frame, and hands gripping the reins with some sort of confidence, Isaac continued out into the unknown, starting the search for a father he didn’t know, but had to look for. 

 

Arthur Morgan was somewhere out there. 

 

And, Isaac Morgan was going to find him.

 

_ (Song to close with: Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys - Willie Nelson) _


	2. A Glimpse of Civilization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac reaches Blackwater and realizes it was never going to be easy.

Isaac didn’t really know what he was getting himself into. Not truly.

 

On the third day of riding, he started to realize this, knuckle-white grip on his reins tightening even further. He had a clear goal in mind throughout, but doubt was starting seep into his mind. Doubt that had been brewing ever since his ma died, and had swirled strongly ever since he discovered the truth about his father. That he  _ had _ one. That he  _ existed _ . Somewhere in this world, all this time. What once had been a facade of doubt flying away as he moved further and further from familiarity, had turned out to be a facade of a facade that it was actually  _ gone. _ He had been confident as he left, but now he was just as unsure as ever.

 

The burning question had to be confronted. Was Arthur Morgan even alive?

 

There was no way Isaac could know that. Not even his ma would’ve found out if that were the case. And, if it  _ were _ the case, Isaac had to think about some sort of plan B. After all, there was bound to be a good chance this Arthur Morgan was dead… just as there was a good chance he was alive. Isaac just had to focus on the latter… and hope for the best. That simple thought threw Isaac into another rabbit hole. Another burning question. Only one of the thousands, it seemed. What reason did Arthur Morgan have for leaving his ma? For leaving  _ him _ ? Leaving them both in a world that was hardly kind to them since? He couldn’t think of any good reason he might’ve had… especially after reading ma’s letter, something that seemed to loop over and over at certain times over the last few days. She really made it sound like he loved her… and, maybe even him. That’s why… that’s why he had that aching feeling that Arthur Morgan would be nothing short of a bastard. A  _ bad man _ , who used his ma and left her all alone to raise him. That’s what pissed Isaac off the most. How could  _ anyone _ do that to his ma? 

 

He liked to think that she was watching over him, guiding him along the dusty, lonesome road, subtly leading him to his father.

 

But, he felt so alone with these thoughts, he was starting to doubt that too.

 

Sally sauntered along the road, hooves dragging every so slightly at an even pace. Isaac wanted to urge her on into a slow lope, but he had no real idea how far Blackwater still was, and how much longer it would take them to reach it. On the second day, Isaac managed to grab the attention of another slow passerby and asked if he was going the right direction to Blackwater. The man, who sported a wide-brimmed hat and a full mustache, only gave him a curt nod as an answer. It was the only thing Isaac had to go on. So, he figured if he just kept on the road, he’d reach Blackwater eventually… it couldn’t have been too far. 

 

Even if his father was dead, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Blackwater was a start if anything. A place he could look… whether it was for Arthur Morgan, or for himself. It made him wonder how long he would end up looking for the man before he settled for nothing. Moving on. It didn’t seem like a real possibility to him. Sure, he physically got on a horse and moved on from everything he’d ever known, but his mother was still consistent in his mind. Her face, both in health and in sickness was constant. The color of her eyes, her hair…  _ her voice _ . He would never be able to simply move on from  _ her.  _ And, now that his alleged father was in the picture, he wasn’t moving on from him either. Not when he’d never even met him. Not yet.

 

Isaac remained on the road, alone with his thoughts, and trying not to stare at anyone, who passed by, for too long. At one point, his attention was shifted to a herd of deer, scampering across the road and wasting no time to get into the cover a shroud of bushes. Sally, slightly jarred by the intrusion of finicky animals, stopped short and snorted. Isaac waited for a few seconds before kicking Sally back into a walk, pondering the animals. He had at least a few more days of food left, for both him  _ and _ Sally. Canned obviously, a couple beans and a can of peaches. A couple apples for Sally, and him, if it came down to it. He wasn’t too concerned about the horse, who was eating her weight in fresh, dewy grass every night they camped, but… he had to start considering  _ his  _ options for when he ran out of food to eat. He still had a good amount of money… but he wasn’t sure if it was best to spend it all on just food. Isaac could tell himself he’d be responsible and only buy what he needed when in town, but how often would he even find himself in a town? He hadn’t come across one since leaving his home, ignoring any sign that didn’t say  _ Blackwater _ in a messy scribble… and he’d rather use that money for emergencies anyway… just in case. So, what about hunting?

 

Granted… he didn’t exactly  _ know _ how to hunt. 

 

Or to fish. 

 

Not growing up with a father in the house, he usually found himself helping out his mother more with laundry and other chores than acquire basic survival skills. Hell, he didn’t even consider it at all until what happened, well,  _ happened.  _

 

‘ _ Cross that bridge when you come to it.’  _ Isaac shook his head, mentally reminding himself. Besides, he didn’t have a lot of time to teach himself hunting or fishing… he had to stay on the road, and only rest when he absolutely  _ had to _ . Maybe… just maybe, he wouldn’t have to resort to that… if everything went according to plan, and he found Arthur Morgan in Blackwater.

 

... _ If _ Arthur Morgan was alive.

 

_ If _ he was even in Blackwater, nine years later...

 

To distract himself from any more doubt, Isaac once again refocused on the road, and the sounds he’d grown comfortable with since traveling on it. The soft but constant movement of Sally’s hooves against the ground, the varying breeze across the prairie, and the birds singing different tunes in a melodic manner. Isaac closed his eyes for a moment after rerouting his train of thought and took a couple of deep breaths.  _ He just had to be a little optimistic.  _

 

“Hey! Get outta the  _ damn _ way!”

 

Isaac snapped his eyes open, instinctively pulling Sally sharply to the right, as the new sound of a shaking stagecoach came surging past. He held the reins tightly, watching with wide eyes as the glistening black carriage seemed to disappear as soon as it had appeared, the driver sparing no second glance in Isaac’s direction. Isaac remained there for a few more moments, waiting for the dust to settle, and considered what the uptight transportation would have meant. He hadn’t seen a stagecoach, at least in that condition, in the last three days. Especially not on an open road with no other prominent towns nearby… which stirred Isaac’s hopes, to a degree. Glancing from the trail of dust kicking up in the distance, to the newly promising, opposite direction, Isaac kicked Sally forward into a steady lope. 

 

Steady, but hopeful. Isaac couldn’t see much over an incline of the trail, but he couldn’t help but still gain a feeling of premature relief and that paid off optimism. At one point he could finally make out sounds other than that of the ones he could hear on the road, taking the bustle and neighing of multiple sources, distant, but there nonetheless. Sally herself couldn’t stop an expressive whinny from escaping her flapping muzzle, only raising Isaac’s expectations more. When he finally reached the top of the gradual hill, he stopped Sally for just a moment, staring at the new change of scenery before him. 

 

What was relief turned into a spike of anxiety when he read the small, but  _ real _ sign, barely preparing Isaac for the sudden burst of civilization that appeared before him. He’d made it there … and now he had to face it. 

 

“ _ Blackwater...”  _ He muttered in his own sense of confirmation.

 

He supposed he just found it hard to believe he actually made it.

 

* * *

 

It was a big town. Bigger than any Isaac had ever visited before, so it took him a minute to fully take it all in before he could bring himself to enter it completely. The buildings were tall, for one thing, easily covering up the inner workings of the settlement so many people seemed to ride in and out of, extravagant carriages and all. It gave Isaac a reminder, that any one of those men he saw riding or walking about could very well be the Arthur Morgan in question. His father. Not having any clue as to what the man looked like other than the matching color of his hair… Isaac struggled to see how he could narrow it down further. It wasn’t like he could go up to each individual, slightly older adult man and ask him if his name happened to be Arthur Morgan… he had to be a little realistic, the task itself already out of any league he was prepared for. Still… it was just the basic idea of it all that left Isaac feeling more anxious than ever. More  _ willing _ than ever to turn right back around and go back home.

 

Except, he didn’t have a home now. Not really.

 

Right.

 

“Okay, girl… let’s do this.” Isaac informed Sally of his now prepared status, ready to go in and get the hard part over with.

 

Even if it wasn’t the really  _ hard _ part, simply riding into the massive compound of buildings and horses and men was a big enough step for Isaac to feel it was hard. Because it meant… he was  _ really _ in it now. He was really going to do this. And, even as various spikes of anxiety made him long for a home he didn’t have anymore, he knew that as soon as he stepped into Blackwater, he couldn’t turn back. He wouldn’t  _ let _ himself, for one… maybe, in a way, it was apart of knowing he couldn’t keep acting like he was a  _ kid _ . He didn’t have that luxury to act naive in the sense that everything would eventually work out magically… he had to be the one to  _ make _ that happen. 

 

With another deep breath, Isaac kicked lightly at Sally’s flank, who immediately bobbed her head and continued in the same, safe walking pace Isaac was comfortable with. There was that, at least.

 

Growing closer and closer, Isaac noticed more about Blackwater. The smell, foreign to him, was hard to take in. It wasn’t… clear, but more industrial. Smokey, but not as if from a campfire. More like burning rubber, but mixed in with some earthiness Isaac could decipher. He scrunched up his nose out of instinct. Isaac knew there were big cities out there, like New York, Boston, and Saint Denis, so he imagined that the scent probably belonged to those kinds of civilized places, only amplified by a lot. Other than that small detail, he wasn’t surprised to see a big lake neighboring the town. Following the San Luis river at some points of his travels, Isaac knew there would eventually be a source… so this must’ve been it. It was grand, if he was being honest, and still held a radiant blue color despite some murkiness. A stark contrast to the mixed colors of grey and brown Blackwater held. The colors of something so unfamiliar that could mean so much in the end… if making an effort ended up being worth something.

 

Before Isaac could notice and distract himself much more, he’d come close enough to the town that the buildings practically loomed over him. He didn’t stop this time, just in order to not dwell and stir his doubts any more than he had, slowing Sally down even more, if possible, and navigating into an uneven traffic of horses, men, and carriages. It was like a calm stream with unexpected twists and turns. Er, something like that, anyway. Regardless, Isaac navigated it, finding it hard to concentrate while noticing so many different things about the town and it’s dynamic. The people, especially, seemed different. The women wore nicer, brighter dresses than a lot of the women’s, including his ma’s, own attire back home. They also carried themselves differently… more confidently, maybe, but in a pompous way. One look at Isaac and they’d most definitely think they were better than him. The men were more diverse, a lot donning the familiar outfits Isaac usually associated them with, farmhands and all, but there were quite a few who dressed in soot black suits, and hats of the same color with a short, round top. Isaac wasn’t sure what they were called… but taking notice of it at that moment, he realized there were quite a lot of those same men in those specific hats, mostly in pairs of two, strolling with an air of alarm amidst everyone else. It was… strange, to the say least. 

 

Spotting the general store, at last, Isaac clicked Sally to the slowest of saunters and pulled her towards one of the many, uniform hitching posts. Jumping down from her was a little bit of a wake-up call, reminding Isaac that he hadn’t been out of the saddle for a day at least. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the levelness of the ground, as well as remember that he wasn’t the tallest of “men” around these parts. As he reached up and grabbed Sally’s reigns, throwing them around the lengthy, horizontal post, he reached into his satchel and felt around for the money he knew he still had… but just had to be  _ extra _ sure about. As suspected, it was there, encased in the very same envelope it was found in. Isaac sucked in a small breath, patting Sally and looking up at the general store sign. He’d just go in, buy something, and… ask. If there was any a place to start… it had to be here. 

 

“Be right back, girl.” Isaac muttered to Sally, eyes never leaving the door he soon walked towards, and eventually, into. 

 

As  _ soon _ as he pushed open the sturdy door, and took a single, mostly confident step inside the airy store, he was greeted by a sprightly, automatic sounding voice. “Why, hello there… young man!” The man Isaac could only assume was the shopkeeper looked to be restocking some items, cigars maybe, but twisted his head around to welcome whoever had just audibly walked in. Isaac, in this case. In any case, he seemed nice enough.

He stood up from his kneeling position with some effort, picking up a box of whatever with him. He was a shorter man, though still taller than Isaac, with small spectacles and a friendly smile that sat below a grey, twisted mustache. Isaac, having not responded yet, not really having the chance to, stepped in further. He hoped he didn’t look as unsure or anxious as he felt, the shopkeeper taking some time to adjust his spectacles and observe the boy in front of him. “Lookin’ to buy something?” He questioned, though with no hint of malice in the curt question.

 

Isaac swallowed slightly, nodding slowly, “Uh, yes, Sir. Actually, I-”

 

The shopkeeper let out a small chuckle. Chortle, actually, of understanding, as he swiftly planted himself behind the tall counter, resting his elbows atop it. “Let me guess, yer ma or pa sent you on a  _ mission _ to get some things so they wouldn’t have to?”

 

_ Right. _

 

Isaac, now really unsure how to answer, furrowed his brows at the other, “Uhh.”

 

“Oh, I get it. I really do.  _ But, _ they must think you’re mighty responsible if they’ve sent you here all by yourself. So I would take it as a compliment, son.” The shopkeeper continued, the same jubilant smile on his face. 

 

Isaac paused, both in speech and step. “Uh, right, Sir… I just need some apples and… oatcakes.” He may have looked as if he were trying to remember what his “parents” sent him out there to get, but he really did have to remember what he was getting in the first place, so thrown off of his actual goal by the shopkeeper’s friendly, chatty demeanor. It wasn’t what he was used to, and not what he was expecting. Then again… Blackwater  _ was  _ unlike the rough and tough exterior _and_ interior  of his hometown. The shopkeeper there wasn’t one for much conversation… only simple transactions. 

 

“Ah,” The man beamed, pointing a sturdy finger towards a far corner of the store. “You’ll find those items in the  _ food _ section, just over there.”

 

Isaac followed his finger, before spotting exactly what he was talking about. Shelves displayed with apples, cans, and an array of other food. He wasted no extra time in walking over there and gathering a couple of handfuls of each of the  _ requested _ items from his “parents”, thinking that the shopkeeper must have been mighty proud of the stock he had. He also must have been proud of “correctly” assuming Isaac had parents, when in fact he only had one alleged one.  _ Who _ also just so happened to be the real reason he was even inside this quaint little store. As he approached the counter, he knew that this was going to go a little less smoothly than planned. In any case, he didn’t know if he’d easily be able to keep this “parent” ruse up so easily. 

 

“Find everything okay?” The shopkeeper quipped, even though it had only taken Isaac less than a minute to grab everything and set them on the polished, wooden surface. 

 

Isaac, regardless, nodded stiffly, gaze switching from the non-diverse food items, to the older man, as he reached into his satchel with the purpose of plucking out five dollars from the envelope. It was more of an awkward motion, doing what he could not to look such a fool as he did so, but his nerves weren’t really cooperating. As he shuffled around in the satchel, he looked to the shopkeeper once more, almost hesitating with this next question.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot…” He trailed off, hands finding what he was looking for as he averted his gaze back to the inside of the satchel, “My  _ pa _ wanted me to ask about a man who might be in town.”

 

The shopkeeper perked up slightly, hands placed flat against the surface, arms as straight as wooden sticks. He looked delighted to be of even more help than he was as the owner of this shop. “Really?” His grey mustache twitched with curiosity and eagerness, “You got a name for this man, son?”

 

Isaac, placing the old, flat bill onto the countertop, sniffed himself. Out of nervousness, or just to make some casual noise, he wasn’t sure. The shopkeeper awaited his paused answer, sliding the five dollars swiftly towards the cashier. Isaac winced inwardly. Saying his name… it felt off. Maybe it was the lying or the inevitable answer of which he could not predict. But, he quickly, mentally reminded himself that he was already here. He needed to man up and just spit it out without thinking too much, for once.

 

“... Arthur Morgan, I think?” 

 

The shopkeeper, in the process of gathering change for Isaac from the confines of the cash register, stopped what he was doing. At first, Isaac inwardly panicked, not understanding if the sudden freeze was out of shock or thought. Judging by the man’s facial expression, eyebrows knitting into a cluster of soft confusion, Isaac relaxed slightly. It was not as if this Arthur Morgan was infamous for something… not that Isaac knew of, or that his ma might’ve mentioned. He just overreacted for a pure second... That was all. His hopeful assumptions turned out to be true when the man’s expression relaxed, letting out a sigh of some sort. That didn’t seem to be a good sign either… but Isaac had to face it.

 

“Arthur Morgan, you say…  _ Hmph _ , I’m sorry, son, that name just isn’t ringing any bells in this ole’ brain of mind.” The man seemed disappointed in himself… or at least disappointed that Isaac didn’t say the name of someone more well known in  _ Blackwater. _ Isaac  _ himself _ felt a surge of disappointment, not sure of what he was expecting anyway. Maybe, even, he felt a little relief that he would not have to confront an Arthur Morgan right away. Isaac, about to thank the man, grabbed the apples and oatcakes and stored them carefully in the satchel. He didn’t get the chance to speak, however, whatever was the start of a downcast tone drowned out by the shopkeeper’s once more pondering voice. 

  
  


“... I do recall an Arthur  _ Callahan,  _ but I suppose I haven’t seen the likes of him in about a month or so.” He scratched at his delicate mustache, squinting as if still in thought. Arthur Callahan… well, Isaac supposed that was no better than not knowing a man of the  _ name _ he was looking for, Arthur was surely a somewhat common name out in the wilds of America. Hell, even in a civilized place such as this. 

 

“I think  _ that _ Arthur was with a gang that came through here. Stirred up a nasty mess, they did. Got the law all involved and everything. But, Morgan, hmm…”

 

Isaac sniffed, mostly ignoring the man’s loud thought, muttering over whatever was still being said. “That’s alright, Si-”

 

“Ah!” He suddenly erupted in an even newer remembrance, “Well, I would tell your father to try the  _ saloon _ , son, all kinds of folks crawl about and pass through there. There’s a good chance that’s where this Morgan fellow has been spending his days if your father’s been expecting him of course.”

 

Oh. The  _ Saloon _ .

 

Isaac’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the suggestion dawning on him. That could make a lot of sense… and although he assumed Arthur Morgan would’ve been a regular in Blackwater by this point, the next place to ask around had to be the place full of travelers and people more likely to come across a possible Arthur Morgan. It would also be a place full of drunks and rough men looking to start fights. Maybe even a combination of both. He swallowed a new lump of dread in his throat, stuffing the last apple into his satchel with hesitance. The shopkeeper was smiling, of course, posture once more resting on the counter as if he was proud of his help. Sure, it was  _ helpful _ , but Isaac felt in no way prepared to traverse that kind of environment.  _ Hell _ , he was hardly ready to enter the warm, comfort that was this general store… and, yet, he found himself wishing he could just stay there and wallow for a little longer. 

 

Isaac, not noticing his own delayed reaction to the  _ great _ news _ ,  _ finally nodded slowly in response. The shopkeeper may have raised his brow at this, but Isaac didn’t quite meet whatever expression he might’ve had. 

 

“Uh, thank you, Mister.”

 

Forgetting to mention his own “father” in the particular, inevitable scenario of searching the saloon, Isaac turned around and took his leave. Quickly, but slow mannered all at the same time. Before he even realized it, he had left his first journey-defining destination, and found himself back on the hot streets of Blackwater, well on his way to the next one. He took a deep breath, scolding himself mentally for acting so childish about this. It was just a place, and he wasn’t going to be in it for more than five minutes, he just had to be  _ smart _ . And, brave. Definitely brave. Letting out that same breath, he stood straight up, walked right over to Sally, and got back up on her without missing a beat. He faintly remembered passing a louder building on his way to the general store, voices booming from afar, a lively piano chirping out some song. At the time he didn’t take much notice of it because he was so… occupied with his thoughts, and overthinking of those thoughts. He  _ couldn’t _ be anymore. He had taken a slow first step into this, and now he had to march forward. For ma. For  _ himself. _

 

Turning Sally around, and kicking her into a confident trot, he quickly approached the saloon.

 

“Let’s do this, girl.  _ I  _ can do this.” Isaac muttered lowly.

 

Before he could process another lengthy thought, he had hitched Sally up again and was standing right at the doors at the saloon. He wished he had this much confidence when he went into the general store initially, even as that quick bout of confidence was slowly starting to deflate at the more refined sounds of drunk men. Or, at least,  _ nearly _ drunk men… it was still early afternoon after all. 

 

_ Right. _ No more reflecting, he just had to get this over with. With another breath, he moved to push open the loose, swinging double doors. 

 

Before he could really push his way in, however, another figure burst out of the doors, nearly knocking Isaac down in the process. Both from a loss of balance  _ and _ surprise. He refrained from yelping, just barely, as the figure, a man, swayed and groaned. Drunk, no doubt, and big. He didn’t seem to notice Isaac, standing right in front of the entrance for a few seconds, before taking a few steps, and falling right of the edge of the porch. Isaac could only watch, and peak over to see if the man would get up from there. He didn’t.

 

Right…  _ right. _

 

Shaking his head, Isaac retook his big, confident breath, and finally shoved open the doors before someone else would have the chance to stumble out and  _ really _ dissuade him from ever entering. Isaac didn’t release that breath this time, taking in the completely different surroundings that were the saloon. It was like stepping into a different world. What was the dusty browns and greys of blackwater turned into a mesh of red and green, while still blending into the rustic complexity? The ceiling was higher than any he had seen, save for church, revealing a higher level of a balcony. On top of that, the jubilant piano seemed to fit nicely with the atmosphere, now booming more clearly into Isaac’s ears. But… the general design of the saloon was far from the only thing Isaac noticed. There was a lot of people… seeming to fill most of the space. Save for a few empty tables and spacey corners, it was clear business must have been going well for the owner. 

 

The diversity surprised Isaac too, noticing a table of more rough looking men contrasting with one filled with men in fancy, slightly dusty suits. Not only that, but a good amount of women also seemed to saunter about, wearing dresses that… well, Isaac couldn’t exactly say, or else he was sure his ma would come down from heaven and drag him out by the ear. Not many seemed to notice the fact that a kid just traversed into a saloon filled with anyone  _ but _ kids, most likely too focused on their own enjoyment of liquor and card games, but those who did made _sure_ to stare. Whether it was a few stray eyes or a group of three or more who all noticed, Isaac could feel his ears become hot, and confidence lower even further.

 

_ ‘Come on, Isaac.’ _

 

Averting his eyes from any prying, curious ones, Isaac raised his head and walked slowly, but surely, in the direction of the actual bar. It was mostly filled, with hunched over backs of all heights facing him, with the exception of a few barren seats. He quickly opted for one of those gaps, ignoring whatever nervous voice sounded off an alarm in his head. 

 

Having reached it, he heaved himself upon the rickety stool and searched for the bartender. Here he was… no going back. No  _ being _ intimidated by the number of men beside him, who were very much, quite possibly staring. He didn’t know, focused only on what was in front of him. The bartender finally seemed to drift by, not once noticing or even  _ glancing _ in Isaac’s direction. He was busy, and a far cry from shorter, older shopkeeper from the general store. Instead of a twirly mustache, he had an ungroomed, burly beard. Instead of whimsical, round glasses, he only sported bare, steely eyes. Isaac swallowed again, this time out of the burst of nervousness he felt just by looking at the man. 

 

Despite wishing he was back in the comfort of the general store, he spoke up among the loud, drunken hollers of everyone, voice faint but clear. 

 

“Sir…. sir?”

 

The bartender continued pouring drinks, beers most likely, and setting them down sharply in front of whoever demanded them. But, he didn’t seem to hear Isaac. Not yet. He raised his voice. 

 

“ _ Excuse me, sir _ ?”

 

This time the bartender glanced up, just briefly, but managed to catch Isaac’s eye before really noticing that there was indeed a younger boy here. He had quickly glanced away originally, back to the task at hand, before realizing just that and taking a much longer look at him. It made Isaac want to back away and run straight out of the saloon… but he gripped the counter fiercely and remained. The bartender slid another beer absentmindedly, completing the task he was already in the middle of, before paying any more mind to Isaac’s very presence. 

 

He approached slowly, almost pondering beforehand just how to handle this, or at least guess why he was there. Isaac just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Grabbing another glass and a dirty rag, the bartender finally found himself directly across from Isaac. Despite looking so rough, he was actually dressed nicer than Isaac would’ve thought. Blackwater  _ was _ Blackwater, he supposed…

 

“This is no place for a boy,  _ boy _ .” He finally spoke, voice younger, yet curt.

 

Isaac swallowed, ignoring the instinct to lean back from his looming presence. Again, he remained, even putting on a face he thought could at least challenge the one the bartender wore. Straight and calm. 

 

“I ain’t a boy, Sir.” He countered, though with an even tone. 

 

The man scoffed at that, a ghost of a smirk hitting his face. “Oh? Then what are ya’? A man? … ‘Fraid not.”

 

Isaac gripped the counter even more tightly if that was possible.

 

“I’m lookin’ for someone.”

 

The man, setting down the glass, scratched his beard, “... Well, you’ve come to the right place. All kinds of people come through here lookin’ for someone… But, I ain’t never seen a boy. Bounty hunters, maybe.” He paused, a short laugh escaping his lips, “But never a boy.”

 

“I said I ain't-a boy.” Isaac’s tone was lower when he repeated this, almost timid, but stubborn enough to say it anyway. 

 

“Where are your parents?” The man immediately shot back, causing Isaac to carefully consider what he said next. He could lie, living the tale the shopkeeper made up for him… but he could already tell that this man would see straight through that. He had to be honest, at least this one time. 

 

“That’s, uh... I’m lookin’ for one.”

 

The barkeeper stopped his beard scratching, eyeing the boy. Around Isaac, no one else seemed to be paying attention to their short conversation. The crowd was still drunk, as expected, and even more rowdy, focusing on their own antics rather than the boy. Still, that didn’t mean a few  _ away  _ from the counter weren’t paying attention to the boy’s strange presence. 

 

“Ah, right.” The barkeeper finally responded, eyes darting around the bar in a studious motion, “I don’t suppose your daddy is one of these drunken fools… or your ma…” He trailed off, obviously referring to a few of the  _ working _ girls, focused on  _ wooing _ such drunken fools. Isaac, looking at and noticing what he was referring to, shook his head quickly.

 

“Ma’s dead." He paused, leaving no time for the man to respond to anything about  _that,_  "But, uh, has a man named Arthur Morgan been here?”  _ Or is he here? _

 

Isaac knew better. If Arthur Morgan  _ lived _ here, the shopkeeper would’ve surely known of him. All he could do was hope the shopkeeper had a good memory unless he was keen to get drunk himself on such occasions. So wrapped up in this thought, Isaac didn’t notice the barkeeper pondering the new name and eventually reaching an answer. 

 

“Yeah, I remember  _ him _ . He was with a few other…  _ undesirables _ .” He muttered now, the memory of that night seemingly flashing before his eyes, “Tore this place up, they did. Even started a few fights. Threw them out before they could attract the law over, that’s the  _ last _ thing I needed…”

 

But, Isaac had stopped listening after ‘I remember him’, eyes widening and pulse gaining traction out of just how much he  _ didn’t _ expect any good answer, let alone the very  _ best _ answer out of any other. Arthur Morgan… he  _ existed _ , first of all. He never doubted that, knowin’ that ma would ever leave him a fake name to chase after blindly. So, not only did the man exist but he was…  _ alive _ still. Or at least Isaac hoped so, he had an awful theory that maybe Arthur Morgan died years ago, so this was promising to say the least. Isaac, mouth gaping open ever so slightly, quickly responded with another question.

 

“D-do you know where he went? Or is?"

 

“Hm, no I don’t believe so, son. All I know is he hasn’t been around for some time, or the people he was with. Not for a month or more…” He shrugged, eyeing

 

_ Oh. _

 

But, that was a start. A  _ start _ , if anything. Isaac pushed away the millions of other questions swirling around in his head that he could easily ask the unsuspecting bartender, settling on just one.

 

“What town is North of here?” 

 

“There’s a few, but I’d say the  _ closest _ be Rhodes.” 

 

That’s where he’d go next. 

 

Isaac, sucking in a breath of new hope and determination, nodded, “Thanks, sir.”

 

He turned around, jumping off the higher stool before the bartender seemed to stammer and callout after him. “Wait a minute, you saying your pa is on the run or somethin’?”

 

Isaac didn’t glance back, already halfway through the swinging doors of the saloon.    
  


“I’m going to find him, sir!” It was barely audible amongst the chatter and hollering already present in the bar, only half heard by the bartender, who shrugged and went about his job. 

 

But, what the bartender nor Isaac didn’t know was their whole conversation had already been listened in on. Particularly by two men who only sat a seat away from where Isaac was. Two men of lanky size, but disguised in a nicer get up than most would consider them to wear. Both looked over their shoulders at the boy’s departure, before looking at each other, slamming some change on the counter, and taking their own leave. A leave that closely followed Isaac’s own. 

 

Too caught up in the new information that Arthur Morgan was quite possibly alive  _and_ close, Isaac didn't notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm super sorry for the delay of this! I was taking a break from writing for winter break, and then school and basketball took up a lot of my free time! There was one point where I had most of this chapter already written up but just couldn't find the time to finish it until recently. I have no other after school activities, so hopefully, spring will be a lot more productive for me to write this. So I'll try not to take too long on future updates!
> 
> So a few things about this chapter. I realize Arthur Morgan is well known in Blackwater for his crimes and association with the Van Der Linde gang at this point in the game, but for the sake of making things just a tiny bit more easy and obscure for Isaac searching and finding out about his father, let's just say Arthur, under his other, fake last name, Callahan, is the Arthur people in Blackwater know as an outlaw at this point. Not Morgan. I hope that makes sense. 
> 
> Anyway, please leave any feedback or questions you may have! :) Enjoy!


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